


Figments of My Imagination

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Depressing imagery, Gen, Implied Slash, Implied/Referenced Suicidal Thoughts, M/M, References to drugs & alcohol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-27
Updated: 2013-10-27
Packaged: 2017-12-30 14:19:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1019661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is tried of seeing Sherlock everywhere. He just wants the pain to be over. Sherlock is tired of hiding from John. He just wants the wait to be over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Figments of My Imagination

**Author's Note:**

> So I wrote this quite some time ago but I like it enjoy to share. Not my best work but eh.

John Watson was not a weak man by any means.

He had served in the army. That took a man of courage, at least some. If he had been weak or scared, he wouldn't have signed up and he wouldn't have survived. He was quite sure of that.

Nor would he have been able to follow Sherlock around. Sherlock most certainly did not live a trouble free life and sometimes that life involved dangerous situations. If John had been weak, he would have never helped out Sherlock so much. He might even have moved. Of this he was definitely sure of.

But this was different. Every person has something that could break them down until they can no longer function. They cannot live the way they are suppose to. They just become a shell of a person. 

For John it was Sherlock’s death that did it. He had watched men die in the army, but this was different. John had come to care too much about the man he had once shared a flat with. He had grew far too close to have this death effect him in any other way but this. And if that made him weak, John no longer cared.

At first it was just going through the daily motions, no longer able to really focus on anything but getting through the day. Then it began. The hallucinations began only a month after Sherlock had committed suicide. One day John was simply sipping tea and there was Sherlock, across from him. John had spilled his tea all over papers left on the table and Sherlock was gone. 

From there it only got worse. Some times it was only visual. He would be walking or doing something and he would see Sherlock. Sherlock was always looking at him. Never anywhere else. 

Some times it was only auditory He would hear the violin be playing or hear Sherlock’s phone go off. Once or twice he would hear Sherlock call out his name.

Rarely it was both. Sherlock would be there and he would talk. Once he and John held a conversation until John broke completely down, sobbing, unable to stop himself, saying over and over “Don’t be dead. Please don’t be dead.” Mrs. Hudson had found him in this state, but did not say anything about it. She understood the pain John was going through, but assumed he’d get over it. She was quite wrong in thinking so, but she didn't know how deeply it all effected John. No one could. 

That was when John began his descent into drugs and alcohol. It wasn't often, drinking was more frequent than the pills he took. If he could not stop seeing Sherlock, he was sure he’d go mad. So he did whatever he could to erase him. To fend off the illusions that plagued his waking hour. Only in dreams did Sherlock continue to haunt him and John worked hard to rid him of there too.

His friends began to worry. John was clearly different than how he was. Sherlock’s death had hit him too hard and they tried their best to help him. But nothing worked. John pushed them all away. It would only hurt them when they saw that nothing could bring him back to the man he once was. He was too lost now. 

It was a year before John knew what he had to do. He had to take his own life. Living was becoming too hard for him. He had messed up his life too much in the way he dealt with his suffering and it would be nearly impossible to fix everything. To pull himself out of the hole he had dug himself into with drugs and alcohol and everything else. He spent weeks going over the way he would do it. Once he thought to do the same thing that Sherlock had done. Jump. But no. Going anywhere near a ledge now was impossible. He had to choose another option.

So he decided shooting would be a good way. A bullet anywhere through his head would take him out. Then he could finally find peace. Maybe if there was a heaven, he might see Sherlock there, reunited in death. It was a morbid thought, but it somehow made John feel better about what he was doing. 

He wrote a short note, explaining that his will to live was gone. That he had not the strength to pull himself out of his depression. That this was all he had left.

John place it where someone would easily find it. No need to make them search around for the reason. He wanted it to be quite clear. John waited until nearly night time, wondering who would be the first to come across his body. Mrs. Hudson? Probably. He hoped he would upset her too much. 

John shook any thoughts away. If he thought too much about what he was going to do, he would not be able to go through with it. But he had to. It was the only option for him now. 

He took a deep breath and drew the gun he planned to use out. He gripped it tightly, looking at it before raising it to take the fatal shot. As he put it against his temple, squeezing his eyes shut he heard his phone go off. John ignored it, but it kept going off. John put the gun down, sighing. Who was texting him at this hour? He barely had any friends now. 

Don’t. - SH

Don’t do it. - SH

John put the gun down. - SH

DON’T. - SH

Please. - SH

John stared at his phone, not sure what to think. SH? He didn't know anyone with those initials but…. John shook his head, dropping his phone. No. It couldn’t be him. It was a trick. An illusion. It wasn't real. It couldn't possibly be. He grabbed the gun again, hearing his phone go off again. 

John. Don’t do it. - SH

John shook his head. Who was texting him? Whoever they were, they were cruel. He grabbed the phone, texting them back, unable to leave it alone.

You’re not funny whoever you are. - JW

John was about to place the phone down when it went off. John sighed. It seemed this person was not going to leave him alone. John set the gun down, though in reach.

You know who this is John. - SH

Yeah. Something cruel enough to use SH. - JW

I am using SH because it’s my initials John. You know that.

John didn't think about that. Surely someone else had those same initials. But why did they have to text John knowing how it would make him feel. Because they had to know.

John think clearly. You know who this is. It’s not that hard to guess.

No. You’re wrong, who ever you are SH. Because I only know one person with those initials and you can’t be him.

Oh? And why not?

Because Sherlock is dead.

The phone was quiet a while after he sent that text. Did he finally convince the person he was not willing to play whatever sick game they were playing? He reached for the gun again, ready to finish what he had planned when the phone buzzed again.

I thought I said not to do it John.

JUST STOP! You aren't Sherlock! He’s dead, gone! And he is never coming back!

Once again there was a pause of silence as John looked at the phone, waiting for the person to respond. What was wrong with him? Why did he even text them back? He was only playing into their hands, letting them have their laugh. Did some part of him believe it was Sherlock at the end or wanted it to be? John didn’t want to admit to that. 

I am Sherlock.

John shook his head. No. He didn't believe it. He couldn't.

I can prove it.

How?

John waited but the person didn't text him back. Clearly they didn't expect him to want evidence or they couldn't think of something convincing. Not that John would have believed them no matter what they said. Nothing. Nothing could get him to believe Sherlock was okay. Was texting him, trying to talk him out of suicide. Though that made John wonder. How did they know what he was doing?

A sudden knock at the door made him jump. He looked at the door as it if suddenly alive and on fire. He didn't move. Didn't get up to answer it. This was a trick. He was hearing things again. No one was at the door. But the person kept knocking. John covered his ears, trying to make it stop. But it wouldn't.

"Go away," he finally shouted. The knocking ceased only for another text to appear.

Open the door John.

John did not move. He wouldn't. He refused. 

John please open the door.

John I am not one to beg, you know that. Just do this one thing. Open the door.

John shook his head. How far was this person willing to go? Maybe if John opened the door, he could finally get this person to leave him alone. Finally be able to do what must be done in peace. He stood, slowly, unsure of what he was going to be doing. His mind flashed back to all his times with Sherlock and he held back a sob. He shouldn't open the door. But he did.

He almost fell when he did and a hand shot out, grabbing John to keep him steady. John staggered back and looked away, unable to face the person at the door. No. No! It was not possible.

"John…"

John moved further back, still refusing to look at the door. It wasn't real. He was seeing things again. He had to be. His mind was playing tricks, showing him what he wanted, no matter that the person had managed to physically touch him. It was not real!

"John look at me."

The voice was so familiar. His tone soft, but stern. John shook his head, looking back at the gun waiting for him. 

"Please just look at me. I’m not asking much."

John finally gave in and looked. There he was. Sherlock Holmes. He looked more tired as if he had been through a lot. His hair shorter than it was before and he was a bit tanner. But it was him. But no. It wasn’t. Because he wasn’t really there. 

Sherlock sighed in relief, apparently happy to have gotten John to look at him. He reached out and John flinched backwards. Sherlock frowned for a second and then moved forward. John closed his eyes, trying to wish the illusion away. He did not expect what happened next.

Hands wrapped around his body, clutching him to the other man. The scent of outside and someone else - peppermint? - filled John’s nose. If this was an illusion it was scary real. John didn't move, unsure of what to do, but then slowly relaxed, hugging the man back. He could feel the tension in Sherlock fade as they continued to hug. 

"I don’t say this often John, so don’t expect it again, but I am sorry." John knew that his words were true. They both pulled back and John realized he was starting to cry.

"It’s you. It’s really you," John said, reaching out, running a hand down Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock just stood there as if he was willing to do almost anything to convince John he was real. What he didn't expect was John hitting him.

"You…you bastard! How could you do this? Let me think you were dead, were gone. Didn't you know how I would feel?"

Sherlock looked at John, unable to fully understand his sudden emotional state personally, but knowing that it made perfect sense. John was openly crying, still trying to fight back a full on weeping session. He hit Sherlock again, angry and sad all at the same time.

"I didn't know John," Sherlock said softly. "I have always been observant but I guess in the end I didn't see how deeply you cared. How much my death would effect you. I expected you to move on. To continue on with your life. It was reasonable."

"I did. I tried. But it was hard I lo- You were the most important part of my life. And then you left me! Of course it effected me."

Sherlock moved forward and then stopped, not sure what to do. John just looked at Sherlock, but suddenly all the rage he felt at being lied to started to melt away. He nodded and moved towards the kitchen.

"What are you doing?"

"Making tea. I…need some tea."

"Have you gone daft John?"

John turned back to face Sherlock. “No I have not. It’s just…you’re back and I just want things to return to normal. I have you back and I am…I don’t want to lose you again.”

"I won’t be going anywhere John," Sherlock reassured him, his tone serious. John couldn't help but want to believe those words as he believed in Sherlock. So he did. He nodded and went to make tea. 

As he moved he saw the gun lying nearby. He looked at it and then picked it up. He saw Sherlock tense and moved a little closer, but John shook his head. He smiled a little. It seemed almost ridiculous now, but not completely. He was still hurting even with Sherlock back. He had gone through too much for that to go away so soon. Things would return to normal though, in time. He was sure of it. But none of it mattered at the moment.

Sherlock was home again. And this time he was real.


End file.
